


Quicken

by stars_inthe_sky



Series: Motions [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, F/M, Masturbation, Memories, Recovered Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:18:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8137016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_inthe_sky/pseuds/stars_inthe_sky
Summary: After the war, before the cold. Or is it vice versa?





	

**Author's Note:**

> [thisismyfavoritethings](http://thisismyfavoritethings.tumblr.com/) prompted: "Post-CA:CW! First time after Bucky recognized Natasha." (First what was not specified.)

It had been Clint’s idea, initially: a way to help Bucky ease into natural sleep while “clearing the pipes,” so to speak, before he went back under.

He’s been prepped for the ice more times than he can count—or remember, in any case—but settling down to try to jerk himself off in a Wakandan guestroom twelve hours in advance was certainly a novel approach. The notion is in his head now, though, and he can’t shake the desire—need?—to see it through.

Even with prompting, Bucky can’t quite recall the last time he’d done anything like this, not before the war and certainly not in his years as the Winter Soldier. Masturbation probably wouldn’t even have occurred to him without the suggestion, to be honest; it’s been decades, really, since Bucky had had the chance to see to his own needs, unhindered by others’ wellbeing or the hard, daily work of survival. These last two years on the run had largely continued that dry spell; though he’d woken up from a nebulous wet dream now and again, the tangible urge for self-pleasure seemed like a thing too far away to be recognized.

The power of suggestion, though, is not to be underestimated.

So, he lies back on the twin bed provided to him—small but comfortable, with a box spring and frame to boot—and goes to work.

 _A woman_ , he thinks, and tries to picture someone he might have found attractive in another life. No one in particular comes to mind, although he finds that his anatomy is so starved for attention that his slow, tentative strokes begin to generate a response anyway.

His conversation with Steve in the Quinjet comes to mind, and Bucky sets his thoughts on that half-remembered redhead called Dot. He can see the refrigerated truck from that day and almost tastes the hot dogs, but her face eludes him. Still, he persists, focusing on the one detail he can access—that red hair—and he’s rewarded in part with an involuntary jerk as his cock hardens.

 _The hair, then_ , he decides, and imagines a copper curtain of it, brushing his forehead as a nonspecific _she_ moves above him. His hand movements quicken over skin and raw nerves, and he gasps at the feeling. The shortness of breath triggers a more specific memory, of someone’s thighs tightening around his neck, of a short struggle for breath and the strangest sensation of déjà vu.

The puzzle pieces of his memory shift into place, and he latches onto the picture of _her_ , pouring his mental energy into discovering more. He switches hands, bringing the metal one to rest against his throat, and more details slot into place, even as his coherence rapidly fades. _Black Widow_ , something in him shouts. _You could at least recognize_ —

There are reasons he’d know that much: through Steve, through Hydra’s keen interest in tracking its enemies, through having nearly killed _her_ thrice now.

But what was her name? _What was her name?_

Bucky’s hand moves faster and faster, his thoughts blurring and narrowing into physical need. The more the image of her sharpens, the more sensory sensations the thought of her generates, the less he can think and yet the closer he seems to be to the answer.

_That woman—I have her—she’s mine, she’s—_

An orgasm surges through him almost without warning, powerful enough to leave him gasping for breath as he gives into its throes, to the inimitable feeling of losing control, of enjoying it.

He flies higher, seeing nothing but sharp lines of her face, the curve of her lip, the tense play of muscles under her clothing. And then it hits him in full, final force: he comes in his hand, moaning in ecstasy, one word escaping his lips over and over and over as he rides it all out.

 _Natalia_ , he says, and so many things that had been beyond his reach seem real once again. _Natalia, Natalia, Natalia._

**Author's Note:**

> Written only slightly belatedly for the 2016 [Buckynat Smutathon](http://fuckyeahbuckynatasha.tumblr.com/tagged/buckynat-smutathon).


End file.
